


Hands Like Secrets

by donotjustlive_fly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Naked Yoga, PWP, Shameless Smut, Smut, Yoga, a little spice to the married life, awkward POV shifts, for the Johnlock fanfiction group, in which I ignore how certain things are supposed to work, just porn and lots of it, like no plot whatsoever, or how they're NOT supposed to work, simultaneous buggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donotjustlive_fly/pseuds/donotjustlive_fly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock?"<br/>"Yes, John?"<br/>"This may be the worst idea you've had to date."<br/>"...perhaps."</p><p> <br/><i>In which the boys (and the author) experiment with several of the many ways bodies really aren't supposed to bend. Smut.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Like Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the Johnlock fanfiction group](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+Johnlock+fanfiction+group), [SumthinClever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumthinClever/gifts), [britni_biohazard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/britni_biohazard/gifts).



>   
>  _(aka Simultaneous Buggering aka The Gay Kama Sutra aka A New Kind of Sexy)_
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> So instead of posting the next chapter of Berühren, I'm posting this MONSTER of a fic that I wrote in about four days. It all started with a semi-innocent conversation between some of my fellow members of the Johnlock fanfiction group on FB- one of them asked who we preferred to see top, John or Sherlock. It remained benign enough until me and my sleep-deprived brain decided to be clever and say "Oh let's get crazy. I like them buggering each other AT THE SAME TIME." What followed was a very long, very silly-but-suddenly-completely-serious discussion about how that could work, awkward search logs and videos and the Gay Kama Sutra included, and somehow turned into me saying that I would write the thing- which brings us to this moment, nearly 5,000 words and four mostly-sleepless nights later. I am both proud and terrified to present my very first smut (written as a mature writer, at least). Much love and appreciation to my darling betas for their help, and to all of the folks who helped to inspire this fic!
> 
> I've also been instructed to inform you that my POV's switch LIKEWOAH and could potentially be confusing if one wasn't paying attention. In other words, don't be an Anderson and you should get along just fine.
> 
> Comments and critiques are extremely welcome and encouraged!
> 
> (The title is taking from the song "Dismantle. Repair." by Anberlin. I would highly suggest listening to it merely for the fact that it is absolutely gorgeous, and is absolute Johnlock perfection in my humble opinion. The full lyric I pulled it from:
> 
> " _ **Hands, like secrets** , are the hardest thing to keep from you_  
>  _Lines and phrases, like knives, your words can cut me through_  
>  _Dismantle me down (repair)_  
>  _You dismantle me_  
>  _You dismantle me")_

* * *

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"This may be the worst idea you've had to date."

"...perhaps."

_~*~ A FEW WEEKS EARLIER ~*~_

"John, I believe it would be in both of our best interests to begin practicing yoga." The doctor glances over his shoulder from the stove, a piece of toast dangling from his mouth as he attempts to simultaneously fry up some eggs for the detective while scarfing down his own breakfast before work. Sherlock distinctly does not find this adorable.

"Www- _hn_." John gives up the multi-tasking for a moment, biting off the corner of toast in his mouth and chewing quickly before attempting to speak again. "Why, pray tell, would yoga 'be in our best interests'? Is it for a case?" Sherlock deliberately avoids his gaze, fiddling absently with one of his experiments on the kitchen table and keeping his voice light.

"Of a sort. Besides, you- neither of us are getting any younger. Increasing our flexibility would do nothing but good. We nearly lost the Macintosh killer because you got yourself stuck in that alley..." With an exasperated sigh, John turns back to the frying pan and therefore misses the intense look Sherlock shoots him.

"We've already discussed this, Sherlock- I got stuck because the _fucking_ alley was filled with random barbed wire and twisted metal, as I'm sure the killer was well aware. You're lucky you and your fucking dramatic coat didn't get caught on something..." There's a hint of stung pride in his voice, so Sherlock puts his scheming aside for the moment to cross the kitchen and embrace the other man from behind. John instantly relaxes back into his chest, his free hand reaching up to curl around a bony wrist and a soft noise of contentment slipping from his throat as Sherlock nuzzles his face into a jumper-clad shoulder. 

"Yes, John. But that isn't the point. The point is that yoga would help with avoiding injuries- if I had been more limber a month ago, I wouldn't have twisted my knee as badly while chasing down suspect number three for the Hive case..." John sighs again, although this one is far less exasperated and far more fond, and cranes his neck to press a kiss to his husband's wild curls. 

"Yes, alright, fine. Sign us up for this ridiculous yoga class. But so help me, Sherlock, if I find out that you have some ulterior motive to this I'll make sure you can't walk straight for a week." A filthy, wicked grin splits a pair of Cupid's bow lips, and Sherlock leans over John to press a kiss to his prickly jaw. 

"I'm counting on it."

~*~

"Fuck. _Fuck_ , Sherlock. I'm not going to be able to work tomorrow. I'm not going to be able to get out of the fucking bed tomorrow. Hell, I'm not going to be able to _fuck_ _you_ tomorrow. This was the worst idea you have ever had in your long history of bad ideas." Sherlock manages to keep mercifully silent as he helps his Army Doctor up the old seventeen steps to their flat, merely tutting soothingly at his companion's (perhaps slightly over-dramatic) groans in a habit he's quickly picked up from both said-companion and Mrs. Hudson. He deposits the man on the couch gingerly before bustling into the kitchen to turn the kettle on, listening to his sweetheart's grumbled cursing with a slightly guilty grin. "Bloody buggering fuck. Shit fuck. Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick. Cunt bollocks. Wanker. ... _hell_." With a teacup in one hand and the hot water bottle in the other, a packet of painkillers in his pocket, Sherlock returns to the sitting room just in time to see John finally lose steam and sink back into the couch with a pained moan.

"And Bob's your uncle. Tea and heat, maybe a soak, and then we'll see about a massage, hm? Can't have those muscles locking up." The smaller man gives his lover a suspicious look, accepting the tea and painkillers without hesitation and letting out a sigh of pleasure as Sherlock carefully places the water bottle on John's right thigh. "Alright?" 

" _Fuck_ no, but that's nice. What are you up to, you mad bastard? You only dote on me this much when you've blown something up or broken something important. Unless you count breaking me as something of importance, I see no logical reason for- all this." He gives half a flick of his wrist to gesture at the man settled on the coffee table before him, grimacing slightly as the movement sends a lance of pain up his arm. Slight guilt still prickling at the back of his mind, Sherlock reaches over to gently cup his palms over John's kneecaps, lightly brushing his thumbs across the soft, sensitive skin along the inner bend and savoring the familiar, muted shiver that trembles along his husband's aching limbs.

"You are most certainly something of importance, don't be absurd. I- _apologize_ for 'breaking' you, but you'll feel better after a day, and it hurts less the second or third class. I promise you." John doesn't even warrant that an answer, giving him a glare that clearly speaks scepticism of another class happening, and Sherlock gives him a mischievous smirk, carefully inching the coffee table backwards to clear a space in front of the couch. "I can make it up to you and get you nice and relaxed at the same time, if you'd like." A more obvious tremor shakes John for a moment, his eyes darkening noticeably and his legs instinctually parting in response to the throaty purr, and he gives his devious love a glare that is mostly playful and entirely full of heat.

"I'd say you owe me at least that much, especially since I don't think I could move for anything further right this second. Have at it then." Sherlock chuckles lowly, stealing the now empty teacup and shifting the cooling water bottle to the scarred shoulder with care, pausing in his quest of distraction to brush the back of his hand over his lover's cheek and lean up for a slow, tender kiss. They both get lost quickly in the familiar slip-slide of lips and tongues, John's fingers weaving into messy curls to tilt that brilliant-mind-filled skull to a sweeter angle and his other hand sliding around Sherlock's ribs to pull him closer. This lasts all of a few seconds, however, because John sits back with a pained whine, his hands going carefully to his sides so he can prod gently at the muscles along his back. "Fuck." The detective feels another pang of guilt, briefly contemplating just forgetting the whole thing in the face of his love's pain.

"Oh John... let me take care of you, alright?" The doctor's only response is to carefully plant his feet and lift his hips, allowing Sherlock to quickly drag off slightly sweaty workout shorts and pants, smoothing his hands along strong thighs as he looks up at his lover through lowered lashes. He takes in the slight furrow in his brow, the love and lust mingling with pain in his darkened eyes, the kiss-reddened lips parted around soft, quick breaths, the flush creeping along that beloved throat, the sharp rise and fall of that broad chest, and finally the gorgeous, half-hard cock nestled between his husband's legs, steadily rising with interest under the detective's penetrative gaze and giving a slight jump as an agile tongue flicks across plump lips. 

"Love, please..." Sherlock glances back up to meet navy blue briefly before giving him a smirk, carefully tugging his hips to the edge of the couch, and then leans forward to flick his tongue against the head as he wraps long fingers around the base. The gratifyingly pleased moan he gets as a response sends a spike of heat along his spine, and he grins before sliding further down the shaft, absently caressing his lover's hip with a thumb while holding his cock steady with the other. " _Sher_ -lock... _oh_." A hum that causes John's head to fall back with a gasp, a slow pull off, more flickering licks around the crown that earn him another throaty, reverent murmur of his name- Sherlock adjusts his grip, sinking down a bit to let one of John's legs sling over his shoulder, when suddenly... _'Oh_.' The detective nearly chokes on a gasp of epiphany, giving John a few quick, firm strokes with his hand in an attempt to keep him distracted while his minds twirls dizzily with the thrill of possibility. _'Can I- yes, .yes., let's see..._ ' 

With his eyes locked on his husband's face, beautifully contorted with pleasure, Sherlock slowly, carefully lowers his body down the couch, keeping up a distracting combination of teeth and lips and tongue and suction while gently, ever-so-gently bending John's prick downward. His spine bows, his neck arches, and when he has the silky-hard shaft bent nearly parallel to John's body, he slides off and gently guides it back to a more natural position, leaning down to mouth at his oblivious love's bollocks to hide his ecstatic grin. _'Oh yes. This is going to .work.. John Watson, you are a marvel_.' And if he returns to his previous ministrations with more enthusiasm than normal, giving John one of the best orgasms he's had in weeks, the good doctor doesn't comment beyond a thrilled moan and a messy, rough hand job once the room stops spinning.

~*~ 

"Sherlock." 

"Yes, John?"

"What the _bloody_ hell are you doing?" The curly-haired detective remains perfectly still, breathing slowly and deeply.

"I'm practicing yoga, John. I would have believed that to be fairly obvious." He slides slowly to a neutral position before flowing into another pose, enjoying the stretch of muscles across his shoulders and the subtle burn in his thighs from being well-used.

"Yes, thank you, I can see that. What I'm asking is _why_ you're doing it, _naked_ , in the _center of the flat_ where Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade or a client could walk in at any moment." With a long-suffering sigh, Sherlock bends nearly in two to peer up at John from between his knees, smirking automatically in response to both the involuntary step the doctor takes toward him and the surprised, pleased noise that escapes his mouth seemingly without conscious thought.

"Would you prefer me do it naked out on the street, or perhaps down at Scotland Yard?" He glides his hands slowly along his calves to grip his ankles, perfectly aware of what a sight he's currently making with his slowly thickening cock framed by milky thighs and his most intimate of places exposed to both the cool air of the flat and the heated stare of his sweetheart. John growls softly, striding forward to slide his hands possessively over his arse and down to his groin.

"Don't push it, love, or we'll test just how flexible you really are." Sherlock lets out an unintentional gasp as lightly callused fingers wrap firmly around his cock, and digs his nails into his talocrural joint in an attempt to ground himself. _'Focus_.'

"Marvelous idea John, speaking of-" He breaks off with a moan as his husband simultaneously swipes his thumb deliberately over his slick glans and grinds his own hard-on against Sherlock's plush behind.

"You know, sweetheart, if you were to just spread your legs a little more- mm, yes, exactly like that- this would be the perfect position to fuck you in. We'd have to work to hit your prostate, of course, but the way you're currently bent- well, I'd imagine you'd have a perfect view of _every. Little. Thing_ that I was doing to you, yes? I'm sure it would be worth the extra effort, don't you agree?" The Consulting Detective can only whimper helplessly as his lover's hand picks up the pace on his now-dripping erection, mind split between that delicious motion and the sweet, rough friction of John's trousers rubbing against the soft flesh of his rear.

"John. _John_." The doctor grits his teeth around a smirk at how thoroughly wrecked his blue-eyed genius sounds, and he curves his body over the lanky one below him to lick at the sweat trailing along Sherlock's spine.

" _Fuck_ , Sherlock, you're gorgeous. Come for me love." With a strangled shout, the man does, his legs wobbling unsteadily beneath him before John grabs him around the waist and helps lower him to the floor, continuing to stroke him gently through his orgasm as he pants desperately for breath. They remain there, spooned together on their knees, for a few moments as Sherlock's racing heart gradually slows and John attempts to hold himself together in the face of a looming orgasm of his own, before Sherlock abruptly turns and knocks his lover flat on his back in a flurry of motion; his jeans and pants are around his knees before he has time to take a breath, and he gives a raw cry of pleasure as he finds himself abruptly balls-deep in the wet heat of his lover's mouth. In an almost embarrassingly short time, he's biting down on his fist to muffle a shout of release, the sensation of that brilliant, sharp tongue worrying at his frenulum sending more tremors of bliss out to his fingers and toes as he slowly comes down from that euphoric high. "Hot _fucking_ damn, that was amazing." Sherlock slithers up his body to kiss the rough-edged words from his lips, humming contently as John licks the taste of himself from his lover's mouth and sprawling, loose-limbed and content, across his chest.

"Hm, yes, quite. I'm holding you to that _lovely_ new fantasy, by the way."

"Right here in the center of the flat where Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade or a client could walk in at any moment?"

"Right here in the center of the flat where Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade or a client could walk in at any moment." John gives an exhausted laugh, wrapping his arms around that narrow waist and burying his nose into sweaty curls.

"Alright, love, we'll see." They lay in peace for a few minutes, Sherlock beginning to doze with his head burrowed under John's chin, before something clicks in the doctor's brain. "Oh. Sherlock, you were in the middle of saying something before I, ah, jumped you." A grunt of acknowledgement, muffled against his collarbone. "What was it?" The younger man lets out a mildly irritated breath, although all such displeasure melts away to amusement at the full-bodied shiver that shoots through the man beneath him in response to the puff of air against his throat.

"Not important at the moment. Let's just take these fantasies one at a time- we don't want to overwhelm ourselves, _darling_. More importantly, I need a shower and you need to scrub the ejaculate from the floorboards before it stains- again." The only response he receives is an affronted noise and warm fingers attacking his sides, sending him into an involuntary fit of giggles.

~*~

The next time the topic arises about a week later the pair are cuddled, sweaty and sated, in their bed. John is once again cradling his sleepy lover on his chest, his mind blissfully replaying their deliciously slow bout of lovemaking. If he hadn't just had a brilliant orgasm minutes before, the remembered image of that long, pale body arched elegantly above his own while Sherlock rode his cock at an absolutely torturous pace, that gorgeous face awash in ecstasy, John is fairly sure his erection would be making a dramatic comeback. As it is, however, he is content to merely hold his beloved closer, one hand resting possessively in the dip of his lower back while the other massages the sensitive scalp under those wild curls, enjoying the unintelligible happy murmurs brushing against his throat from where Sherlock has tucked himself into John's body, long fingers absently dancing along tanned sides. Just as John is beginning to doze, fuzzy-warm thoughts of giggly Consulting Detectives and sex in front of the fire dancing gleefully through his brain, Sherlock stirs; he nuzzles his face further into the doctor's neck for a moment before pushing himself up onto his elbows, yawning and adorable in a way that causes John to wonder if it was at all possible for him to be more in love with the man than he already was 

"John, you may recall last week when I started to bring something up before I was so rudely interrupted." The blond grins shamelessly, letting the hand tangled in Sherlock's dark curls slip down to cup his jaw, stroking a thumb along his lower lip and savoring the subtle shiver that zips through the younger man. "If you'd be so kind as to let me finish." A soft chuckle.

"Sorry love, go on." With in indignant sniff, Sherlock turns his face into John's hand briefly before continuing.

"Hm. As I was saying, I have a proposition for you. A new position I would like to experiment with, as it were." When the only response he receives is a warm, encouraging smile and a nod, the detective takes a breath to steady himself. "The proposal is this: we copulate concurrently." John blinks.

"Copulate concurrently." A nod, a thread of anxiety in glasz eyes, and John mulls this over for a moment before it clicks; his eyes widen and his checks heat, staring up at his lover with equal parts shock and awe. "Are you- you mean- fucking each other at the same time?" With a soft huff of breath that betrays both his nervousness and his embarrassment, Sherlock hides back against John's shoulder. 

"Simultaneous buggering, if you will. Yes. I- may have done a tiny bit of research, and it sounds- it sounds-" He cuts himself off as a bolt of anxiety closes his throat, but steadies himself to continue as his husband merely holds him closer, the hand against his lower back absently caressing bare skin while the other sneaks back into his riotous curls. "It sounds wonderfully intimate and intense and pleasurable and I would enjoy nothing more than to experience it with you." John feels his heart swell with adoration for this beautiful, fragile man he was lucky enough to call 'his', opening his mouth with a promise to follow him to the ends of the earth on the tip of his tongue, when something occurs to him.

"Sherlock. Is this the reason why you suggested the yoga?" The silence from below his chin is more than enough of an answer, and John finds himself laughing in spite of himself, rolling them over and pinning his lover's wrists above his head with one hand, the other tenderly stroking the precious crinkle between his eyes before he leans down to kiss away the sweet little pout. "Yes, you mad bastard. I will try whatever crazy position you want to. Just promise me that you'll be smart about this- I don't want either of us getting hurt because we weren't being careful." Sherlock somehow manages an indignant glare in spite of the flush quickly spreading across his pale skin and the obvious arousal prickling through his veins 

"Of course, John- what do you think I've been doing the past few weeks?" The doctor chuckles, peppering kisses along the glorious cheekbones.

"Naturally, how silly of me to doubt you. Now, I believe I promised you something about not being able to walk straight for a week if there was a plot behind the yoga..." Sherlock moans eagerly.

~*~

Which brings us back to this:

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"This may be the worst idea you've had to date."

"...perhaps."

The crime-solving duo are once again sprawled across their bed, Sherlock sunk deep into John's body while absently stroking the doctor's own erection; the dark-haired detective balances carefully on his knees to avoid slipping out, staring down at the connection between their bodies with slightly furrowed brows. "How, in all of your supposed 'research', did you not come across or even think to _look_ for an explanation of how the hell to pull this off?" Sherlock purses his lips at his lover, giving the cock in his hand a slightly vengeful twist on an upstroke, and is nearly distracted from the task at hand (as it were) as the smaller man lets out a choked noise of pleasure and pain. " _Sherlock_."

"Do shut up John. Neither your critiques nor your compliments are assisting me while I attempt to make this work." With a scowl, John deliberately clenches down on the slick shaft buried in him, baring his teeth in an edgy smirk when Sherlock gasps and gives an involuntary thrust. "John Hamish Watson, that is quite enou- _oh god_." The young man's arms wobble and then give out as the doctor rolls his hips and clenches down again, panting wildly into the tanned throat beneath him as John turns his attention to his husband's sensitive ear.

"How about this, sweetheart- you go ahead and fuck me nice and hard right this second, and then we'll try to solve this mystery when we're not out of my mind with wanting each other. Sound good?" Sherlock can merely give an inarticulate sound of need in response and props himself back up on his elbows to set a brutal pace, only stuttering once when John hooks strong legs around his waist, the change in position causing both to groan. "Oh _fuck_ yes- Sherlock, so good..." The younger man gasps helplessly as heat pulses through his veins, carefully reaching between them to wrap a hand around his lover's leaking prick and stroke messily; the contact is enough to cause John to arch with a barely muffled cry of ecstasy, pulling Sherlock over the edge right behind him with the fluttering of his inner muscles.

Once his vision clears and his heart stops pounding quite so loudly in his ears, John nuzzles his shivering lover's curls and wraps his arms around a slender waist. Sherlock burrows closer, tilting his head so that his mouth is brushing the other man's ear. "I think- I have this figured out. What we're going to need to do is..."

A scant few minutes later, in spite of the sleepiness threatening to overtake both of them, the couple have situated themselves into position- John still sprawled on his back with a pillow shoved under his hips and shoulders and Sherlock now on his belly in the vee of his husband's legs, one of his own legs tucked underneath John's arse alongside the pillow while the other was flung over his hip, knee bent slightly so he could turn partway onto his side and trail his gaze up along the other's body to meet the faintly amused navy eyes currently locked on him. "Scissoring" the detective had said, and John had struggled not to giggle like a teenager. That was exactly what it was, regardless of his immature amusement- the doctor was having a remarkably difficult time pushing clips of videos watched in his younger years out of his head, images of busty women desperately grinding together while a moan track played in the background circling his thoughts. This, however, was widely different in a thousand different ways: all sharp angles and whipcord limbs, the Cupid's bow lips he adored far too far away down by his knee, Sherlock's long toes curling absently against his side as he stroked his thumb over the delicate ankle, and a familiar prick still limp from their recent lovemaking but warm and soft where it was nestled against his arse. And speaking of arses- John smoothes a hand over his husband's plump behind, the thought of the show he was going go receive from his vantage point enough to send a spark of interest to his own cock.

"I am fairly sure we won't be able to do much by way of normal movement like this- perhaps a bit of rocking, I may be able to manage more than you, purely due to our positioning- so we may not reach orgasm with this method. How would you prefer to proceed if that becomes necessary?" John grins at his husband's planning, feeling even more hopelessly in love with the madman, and strokes the calf pressed against his waist.

"However you'd like to, love- I'm just happy to be sharing this with you." This earns him pink cheeks and a mild glare, although even from this distance he can see the way the other man's eyes are twinkling and a smile is threatening at his mouth.

"Yes, well, you might not feel so charitable if we have to pause and complete this conversation in the midst of copulation, so make a decision quickly- I think we are just about ready to begin." Indeed, John can feel a firmer nudge against the sensitive skin of his rump, and what had been a mere spark ten minutes prior was now a slow burn of desire for the brilliant man sprawled, upside-down, on top of him.

"Will you ride me?" A smirk pulls at Sherlock's mouth, and he nuzzles at John's knee for a moment before flickering his tongue playfully against the smooth, slightly salty skin of the underside; a full-bodied shiver trembles through his lover, accompanied by a soft, desperate sound, and the smirk breaks free.

"Yes, John. I should have been able to deduce that on my own- you are generally 37% louder and orgasm 62% faster when I do." John gives the handful of deductive arse in his hand a deliberate squeeze, head still spinning slightly from Sherlock's brief assault on his (utterly ridiculous but undeniably sensitive) erogenous zone of the back of his knee.

"Alright, you great prat, that's enough- let's see whether this _brilliant_ idea of yours is going to work." Sherlock gives him a brief, earnest grin before turning his attention to their half-hard erections. Propping himself up slightly on an elbow, he carefully guides himself back onto his lover and lets out an involuntary sigh of pleasure that is echoed further up the bed, John stroking the warm, soft globe still under his hand with reverence. " _Damn_ , but if that isn't gorgeous..." The detective feels his ears heat at the husky murmur, a helpless grin still tugging at his lips as he remains motionless for a few moments to allow his body to relax further around the welcome intrusion. "Alright, love?"

Instead of responding verbally, Sherlock flattens his shoulders to the mattress slowly and then gingerly works his own cock back into his lover's slick heat. Both men groan at the flood of pleasure even remaining stationary brings, bodies automatically rippling around the heated flesh buried in each other's arses and sending more sparks of pleasure dancing along their skin. Panting, Sherlock eases himself back up onto his elbows before giving his hips an experimental roll, nearly giving himself whiplash as he throws his head back with a long, low moan at the dual sensation of taking and being taken. They settle quickly into a steady rock and swirl, both men utterly lost to the feeling. Sherlock twists slightly so he can look back up at his lover's face, the sight of him, eyes clenched and face utterly shattered with pleasure, sending a jolt straight from the base of his neck down to his cock; he laces their hands together and is gratified to see those dark, pupil-blown eyes crack open to fix him with an intense stare. " _Sherlock_." The younger man whines helplessly at the flood of heat that replaces his very blood in his veins in response to his husband's desperate utterance, his hips stuttering as he attempts to pick up the pace and nearly loses John's cock. " _Fuck_. Now, love, please- I need-" Sherlock is carefully separating them and scrambling onto his knees before the other man has even finished speaking, straddling his hips and sinking back down on to the silky hardness of his prick with a cry of pure pleasure.

" _John_." They fall naturally into a quick rhythm, Sherlock's hands braced against John's chest while the doctor's fingers grip bony hips to help balance the lanky figure; their lips meet for a messy, desperate kiss before John sucks in a breath.

" _Oh_ , love, I'm right there. Are you-?" Sherlock shudders and shakes his head slightly, shifting the angle of their thrusts until he gasps, grinning slightly. 

" _There_ , there, _John_. God, you... _oh_." He loses the steady cadence of his thrusts as his orgasm sweeps through him, taking his lover as deep as possible and clenching around him tighter, aftershocks trembling through him as he feels John spill inside him with a moan. By the time his head clears enough that he feels grounded back in his body, he's wrapped up in his husband's arms and cradled to his chest, unintelligible murmurs brushing soothingly against his ear.

"You back with me, 'lock?" He groans softly, burying into the comfortable spot in the crook of John's neck; the doctor's low chuckle vibrates pleasantly through his skull and down his spine, drawing a contented hum from his own throat. " _So_. That was..."

" _Mm_. Yes. As- intense as I was expecting. Wonderfully intense. Regardless, I believe I'll need to repeat the experiment to verify the results." John chuckles in spite of himself, smoothing a hand down his lover's spine and nuzzling his curls. 

"Of course you will, love. Eventually. However, I don't even want to _think_ about doing anything besides sleep right now- I'm knackered." Sherlock huffs, though whether in agreement or disappointment John isn't sure; either way, the detective cuddles closer and presses his nose under his husband's jaw, lips brushing lightly against the slightly-stubbled skin.

"Yes, John. Sleep well. The experiment can continue tomorrow." John groans softly, and Sherlock hides a broad grin in his shoulder.

* * *

 


End file.
